A Killer Read (22 page)

L
izzie found it surprisingly hard to concentrate at choir practice. That added to her already melancholic mood. Choir had always had a redemptive power for her, able to set things right in her mind, if not in her world. But tonight she’d slid too far off the grid. She couldn’t reel in her thoughts, all about her daddy, trying to bring him to life in her memory, and to make sense of his death. Before the mysterious phone calls had started, she would think about him only every now and then, particularly on the anniversaries of his birth and death. She’d long ago come to terms with it all. Or so she’d thought until the late-night caller had rattled her peace of mind.

Why was all this happening? First, Telford’s death, now the reference to her daddy’s death. And, oh yes, the manuscript. She shook her head, surprising Krista Barlow, standing beside her. Lizzie kept her eyes focused on the music and willed her mind to follow the notes. Or, at the very least, to get her through the two hours without appearing the fool.

L
izzie’s Saturday morning “To Do” list seemed to be morphing into twice its usual length, the more items she ticked off. Shopping for groceries at the nearby Winn-Dixie ended in a trip to the Natural Lifestyle Shop around the corner, for some of the health food items she’d not already found. Stopping in at the Ashton Corners Public Library to pick up a book she’d reserved led to a visit to the Friends of the Library book sale in the activities room, which wasn’t a bad thing in itself, except that she left with a “Fill-a-bag-for-five-dollars” bargain. Her next stop, a task she’d taken on at choir last night, meant a drive to the west end of town to pick up the program flyers they’d need for the benefit concert.

By the time she headed home again, she was tired, hungry and trying to keep her mind from sliding into that rut of worrying about the calls, the manuscript and the murder.

The phone was ringing insistently as Lizzie opened her front door. She grabbed the receiver, not bothering to check call display. Hopefully, it would be Molly with news about Stephanie.

“Hello?”

“You’re a hard one to get hold of, Lizzie.” Paige sounded a tad annoyed.

“Paige, I’m sorry. I’ve just had so much on my plate lately. I meant to call you last night, but I was wiped by the time I got home. And I’ve been out, driving all over town, trying to combine all my errands into one trip. How are you?” So, not Molly. Maybe she hadn’t had a chance to visit Stephanie as yet.

“I’m miffed, but I’ll admit it’s more to do with a husband who’s gone fishing with the guys for the weekend and a plumber who didn’t show up when he said he would this morning.”

“Yikes. What’s your plumbing problem?”

“I’m getting only a trickle of water in the bathtub. Last
night we hauled buckets of water up for the kids’ bath and arranged for the plumber. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to do the same tonight.”

Lizzie couldn’t picture her petite friend carrying even one bucket of water. Anywhere. “Did you try calling him again?”

“Of course. It went to voice mail, so he has three messages from me waiting for him when he finally gets around to checking them.” She sighed loudly, then took a moment to ask the kids to take their Popsicles outside. “I’m sorry… I just needed someone to rant to.”

“And a good one it was. I have an idea. If he doesn’t appear by dinner, why not come over here? We’ll have something light and easy and you can bathe the kids here.”

“Oh, sweetie, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll call you to confirm. See you later.”

Lizzie smiled as she hung up. That would brighten up the end of the day. Meanwhile, she had a two-week buildup of cat fur and dust balls to deal with. She pulled her old Electrolux vacuum out of the small hall closet under the stairs, fit the attachments together and attacked the main floor. By the time she’d finished the top floor and also scrubbed the main bathroom, she needed a break. Fortunately, the back patio beckoned, and she grabbed some crackers and cheese, along with a cup of green tea, and pulled a chair into the sunshine to soak up some Vitamin D along with her lunch.

By the time Paige rang the front doorbell, the house stood spotless and welcoming and Lizzie had changed into clean jeans with a lime green dolman-sleeved cardigan and black T-shirt. She poured them each a glass of wine, along with some apple juice for the girls, and they all sat outdoors while the sun still reached the patio.

Over dinner, Lizzie told Paige all about the phone calls and her visit to the newspaper office, while Jenna and
Cate— and their two dolls— carried on their own conversation at their smaller, kid-sized table, placed beside the adults’ table. Paige had stuffed the table and two tiny chairs in the back of her SUV, knowing it was the only way the two adults could enjoy any amount of conversation at their meal.

“Oh, Lizzie, sweetie,” Paige said, reaching for a second piece of cornbread, “isn’t that opening old wounds? What did you expect to find? That your daddy had been killed while investigating a story? Don’t you think the police would have found some indication of that at the time?”

“Well, you never know. They might not have had a reason to suspect anything other than an accident. But I guess the fact that it was a head-on crash confirms it. I just want to double-check on everything these days. There are a lot of odd things happening— first the murder, then the manuscript, then the phone calls.”

“Hmm. It could all be coincidence. I’m a great believer in that. For instance, what are the chances you’d run into Mark Dreyfus again and that you two would be all involved in a murder case?”

Lizzie was happy to change tracks, get her mind on more pleasant things. She paused, to add some drama, before answering. “And what are the chances we’d finally be going out on a date?”

“You’re kidding. No, you’re not. Tell all, girl.”

“Next Saturday night. And that’s all there is to tell at the moment.”

“That is so exciting. And only ten or so years later.” She switched her attention to the smaller table. “Cate, I know you’re tired, chickpea, but I’d sure be pleased if you’d finish all your salad. You, too, Lizzie.”

“Yes, Mama,” Lizzie answered in a perky voice. “I know, it does seem strange. But you know, this Mark is not the same guy I had a crush on in high school.”

“Of course not. You didn’t even know him. Aside from this hunky body in a football uniform.”

“And a great smile.”

“Hey. And all that padding. Especially around the butt.”

“And curly black hair. But that’s all gone now. You know, he’s shaved his head?”

“No, I didn’t, but I’ll bet that makes him even sexier. Oh, that boy just oozed sexual tension. He had you panting, and I have all the notes to prove it.”

“Oh, no, not those notes again. I want you to go right home and destroy them. Or better yet, give them back to me.” Lizzie tried to look stern.

“Hah. Not going to happen, sweetie. Just suck it up.” Paige jumped up. “Jenna, that’s quite a mess you’ve made, child. Let Mama get a dishcloth and wipe it up, then we’ll tackle your T-shirt.”

Lizzie watched her friend go about the cleanup, talking to her kids the entire time. She’d always felt Paige was great mama material. She’d had a good example to follow. Lizzie, on the other hand, used to feel she herself would probably be totally inept in that role. She felt she made a better teacher than she would a mother. Paige looked over at her and smiled.

“A penny,” she said.

“I think it’s i-c-e c-r-e-a-m time, don’t you?”

“Ice cream! Yes!” yelled Cate.

Paige said, “We gave up spelling her favorites a long time ago.”

After Paige bathed the girls and they’d left, Lizzie pulled out the manuscript once again. She read it through, then went upstairs and turned on her computer. No listings for Harlan Fowks, Adele Fowks or Carla. She searched on “Telford Construction” yet again. Nada. She read through every hit for a Telford of any gender, hoping to come up with a relative. Nothing seemed to fit. How could someone be so
isolated and alone in this modern world? And why did he want to be?

Her growing frustration reached the point where it was either throw the monitor out the window or call it a night. She chose the latter.

L
izzie’s usual Sunday visit with her mama left her feeling even more down. She’d found Evelyn Turner messing through the drawers of her bureau, fretful and searching for something. When Lizzie asked what she was looking for, Evelyn looked blankly at her, then resumed emptying one drawer at a time, then putting things back but in a jumbled manner.

Lizzie waited her out and eventually Evelyn sat down in her favorite chair and stared out the window. Lizzie got up and re-ordered all the drawers, knowing how important it was that everything be in its expected place.

When she’d finished, she sat across from her mama and read another couple of chapters in
Mansfield Park
, until the afternoon tea bell sounded. Maybe Mama needed to take part in the tea ritual with the others, without having to try to figure out who this visitor was. Lizzie knew the importance of routines in her daily schedule.

She left feeling as fidgety as her mama had been. She needed a distraction, something to take her mind off Mama, off the murder, off school.

She walked out to her Mazda parked in the side lot and sat behind the steering wheel for several minutes before finally inserting the key and starting it up. She eased out onto the street and found herself taking the old Slocam Road route that ran beside the Tallapoosa River, away from town. She drove for about an hour, passing through small lazy areas with only a general store and a gas station to mark the spot, through forested areas that gave way to pasturelands where the road branched inland from the river, then back along the quiet grassy banks as the road found its way to the water.

She stopped and got out of the car to stretch, realizing that her mind had been as free-flowing as the surroundings. She took a deep breath and a final look around her, then drove home, suddenly hungry and wanting nothing more than a quiet evening on her own.

After supper, Lizzie quickly washed up her dishes, leaving them in the dish rack to air-dry. The leftover spaghetti with pesto sauce went in the fridge. She wondered briefly what Evelyn had for supper and pictured her back in her room, staring out the window at the rapidly approaching evening.

That thought put her back on track. She ran upstairs and rummaged through the hall closet until she found the box where she’d stored her childhood. Not much had been kept. But in it she found the scrapbook Mama had kept highlighting her daddy’s career. Every article he’d written or that was written about him had been lovingly added over the years.

She hadn’t looked at it in ages, she realized. Just touching it brought tears to her eyes.
Buck up, Lizzie.
She ate a couple of teaspoons of almond butter while waiting for the water
to boil for a cup of hot ginger tea, then sat down to read from the beginning. He’d started out writing for the
Ashton Corners Colonist
, part-time while still in high school, then went away to college in Birmingham where he wrote for their newspaper, and then got his first break with a short op-ed piece in the
New Yorker
magazine. His first job as a reporter was with the
Birmingham Herald
, but he switched to magazine writing when he’d married Evelyn Ross and settled down back in Ashton Corners.